Poisonous Spell
by renegadewriter8
Summary: A LJ P&J Community September Anniversary challenge. Day 25- Prompt: Instant Attractions / In the unlikeliness of places, they met, only to be separated again / Rating now M
1. Chapter 1

**Prompt**: Instant Attractions

* * *

When they first met, they were both coated in dirt and energon. The area where they stood motionless was surrounded by screams of anger, desperation, agony, and death. Plasma shots passed so near them that their armors got burnt. Explosions and smoke filled the air, the ground was a mix between a gruesome cemetery and a chaotic battle field for survival. At that moment though, they both forgot who they were, what they were, and why they were fighting.

In spite of everything, Jazz had once been a hopeless romantic. He loved everything about courting and pleasing a bot. He firmly believe in love at first sight, which was why he never stayed with any of his lovers. He had never felt that pull before. Prowl though, having lived a painful and neglected younglinghood, had never believed in love, and the term 'love at first sight' was so absurd and illogical that he could not help but be disgusted by those that let themselves be bewitched by its spell. To him, it was a poison that made you blind and deaf to the reality. A poison he wished would never find its way to him.

Now though, as he found himself staring into the red visor of a mech he had never seen before in his entire existence, he couldn't help but let the spell be cast upon him, let the effects of that delicious poison run its course. He felt no need, no reason, no _desire_ to stop it.

Jazz couldn't stop looking at the mech in front of him. His spark felt like it was being grabbed by an invisible force, surrounding him, whispering promises and gently pushing him towards the other. As if under a spell, he took a slow step forward, and in that moment, he knew that he was staring at his other half.

He looked at the blaster in his servo and was disgusted that he had been about to use it to kill the mech in front of him. He took another step forward, wanting to reach the beautiful doorwinger. Praxian. Inside, a wave of despair ran thought his circuits at this realization. The Decepticons had destroyed the neutral city of Praxus, had burnt it to the ground. No survivors. His spark cried in pain as he regretted taking part in its destruction, in the obvious agony he had caused his Praxian. Yes, _his_ Praxian. His spark had found its other half and he wasn't letting go. What would have happened if this mech had been in Praxus at the time of the attack? What if he had died and Jazz never met him? He wondered if anyone had held him, comforted him as he cried in grief and loss of his city and its habitants. The thought was met with a possessive snarl as he took yet another step forward. Now more than anything, he wanted to take the doorwinger and hold him in a protective embrace.

Prowl looked at the mech taking slow and careful steps towards him. His com. link buzzed yet he was deaf to it. His spark pulsed in need to be near the visored mech. The spell cast upon him was so strong that he forgot his hatred and anger towards the Decepticons. Surely, the spark which his own so desperately called for had not been involved in the genocide. The poison he had feared his whole life seemed to take full effect and he suddenly wondered if this was the bot that would listent o him, believe in him, defend him from every insult, acknowledge him, _love_ him. He felt like he had found the one thing that would make him complete. How could this poison have been kept from him?

There were only a few steps separating them now. Neither had spoken once, the weapons in each one's servos were forgotten, their faction emblems were a blur, the color of their optics meant nothing. In an act that seemed so normal, the tactician raised his hand, palm up in a silent calling, a silent welcome. Visor brightening, Jazz made to take it. And then, the spell was broken in the most horrible way. A shot pierced the doorwinger's shoulder, a scream of pain filling Jazz's audio receptors.

Everything happened so fast. His other half fell motionless on the ground. For a moment, all Jazz could do was stare in horror at the unmoving form. Anger and despair grasped his spark. Before he could go to his other half's side, four mechs appeared and started shooting at him, a fifth one crouching next to the doorwinger, medical tools in his servos.

The saboteur bared his denta. Who were they? What were they doing to _his_ Praxian! He tried getting closer, but he was outnumbered and had to retreat, his own (suddenly the word felt like acid in his mouth) comrades coming to join in the fight.

He ran, avoiding the shots and insults thrown his way. He avoided his own faction and hid inside the ruins of a small house, the shadow hiding him perfectly. He watched what was going on. His anger subsiding, he realized that the one tending to the doorwinger was a medic and felt both relived and gratefulness. Shots were fired far, _far_ too near the small groups who (he now realized) were protecting the other half of his spark. A different kind of spell was cast upon him. One that spoke of murder. Visor glowing in anger, with no hesitation, he aimed his blaster at started shooting down one by one the mechs that dared to shoot at the small group.

Place quiet now, the confused mechs turned to help move Prowl, he was in need of emergency surgery and they had to get back as soon as possible to the base. He suddenly came online with a pained groan and was in a daze, mumbling incoherent words.

From his hiding place, Jazz watched as the doorwinger was gently lifted and taken away. For a moment, their optics locked again. Both reflected the same pain. They had found each other in the most unlikely place, in the most impossible situation, yet they knew not the other's name nor if they would ever meet again. Jazz's spark clenched even more painfully when the injured Praxian lifted his servo much like he had done before, yet this time, in desperate need. A need which Jazz could not acknowledge, forced to stay where he was. Ashamed, he turned his optics away, not able to bare the hurt expression on the doorwinger's faceplates as he did so.

Biting his lip, servos clenched so hard his clawed servos were drawing energon from his palms, he felt his spark tear at the anguished cry that reached him, yet he could not go! Letting out a choked sob, he got up and ran, his faction already retreating.

He didn't look back.

* * *

*is nervous* Um, yeah... well... *runs*

If you review I might add another chapie! *keeps running*


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Poisonous Spell (2/?)  
**Characters: **Prowl, Jazz, Red Alert, Sentinel Prime, bunch of OCs  
**Verse:** G1  
**Words: **4770

**Author's Notes:** You my dear readers, demanded it! And here it is! Wohoo! Wow this chapter was supposedly done days ago. But when I went to proofread it more bunnies jumped at me with really cool ideas and I just had to find a way to get them into the mix... T.T Still, it is _DONE_!

Oh and there will be 5 or 6 chapters, no more no less. If a bunny appears with another chapter... I'll shoot it! *grabs shotgun*

**Disclaimer**: Do not, in any way or form, own Transformers.  
Also, sorcelling is an awesome ability created by **taralynden** in her fic Story of a Lifetime. If you haven't read it I highly recommend you do so!

**0000000000000000000000**

Prowl woke from recharge feeling numb. After an orn of extensive care, he was finally back to full health, yet since that fateful joor, everything had stopped making sense, had stopped mattering. He walked through the headquarter's halls in a catatonic daze, did his job on autopilot, went to meetings not hearing what was being said, not even remembering when or what he had spoken of. He didn't even notice that some mechs threw him concerned looks.

Worst of all were his tactical plans and analysis. The tactician didn't know what to do; the plans he made would blow up or kill a lot of the Deceptions and their bases. Before, that would have been a very, _very_ good thing. Now though, he couldn't help but think, what if _he_ was in one of those bases? What if the SIC was responsible for the death of his spark's other half? The thought tortured him every time he powered down for recharge. He was compromised, and he knew it. The spell cast upon wouldn't allow him to bring harm to his unofficial mate.

Part of his spark demanded that he leave his position and hand it to another in order to avoid being the one responsible for his mech's death. To leave the Autobots and search for the visored mech, to have his spark completed. But he also had a responsibility to the mechs on the base, another part reminded him. It was _his_ plans that kept _them_ safe, yet proved dangerous for his other half.

His logic center and battle computer did not help settle the conflict within him. The conclusions his analysis gave him were that such thoughts were traitorous, unimportant, and proved crippling. But his spark would have none of it.

It was a continuous battle that clashed every time he laid on his berth, recharge eluding him. Every moment of seeming peace and tranquility only gave way to that furious turmoil. It was affecting him, and others were noticing.

There was no way out of his plight, at least not one his spark would feel at ease with. So he'd fight the poison that enveloped his spark, he'd throw himself into his job and pray to Primus that he saved the visored mech from death.

It was all he could do.

**00000000000000000000000**

Jazz stared unseeingly at the death duel in the rec. room. Two mechs were trying to rip each other apart - nothing new - while the rest of the bots cheered at them and laughed when a limb was cut off, at how energon pooled around the two battling mechs. From his dark corner, arms crossed, Jazz turned his head from the sight with a disgusted sneer. He had once been one of those mechs, laughing at the pain of others, or being the one causing it. Now, all he could see in the pained optics of the dying mech, were the optics of his doorwinger.

Not being able to stand the sight any longer he left the rec. room, not one noticing his absence. As he walked, he looked at the base's halls: dirty, oppressing, dark, suffocating. Energon stained the walls from unlucky bots meeting their end.

Reaching his quarters, he sat on his berth thankful his room mate was gone; probably interfacing with someone. He thought real hard about what had happened a few orns ago.

His decision to join the Decepticons suddenly seemed stupid, disappointing, and reckless. He had believed so much in Megatron's words; to bring Cybertron back to its former glory. He had been blinded by his own desire to bring back any decency to the streets he had once grown up in, that he hadn't realized he was causing more and more deaths of innocents than ever. Primus he had thought destroying Praxus was _right_! All those innocent bots. He shook his head at the memory. He had laughed at the destruction, at the screams, the fear, and then, the silence.

A few battles had been fought after the joor he first laid optics on his mech. In each one, Jazz had had no intentions of shooting his blaster. All he did was search, search the battlefield for the sight of his beloved. His spark had flared in relief and joy when he saw a mech with doorwings. He had been about to approach the mech when he realized with anguish that the paintjob was wrong, the way the mech stood was wrong, and when he turned, that his expressions were wrong.

As each battle came and no sign of his Praxian, Jazz became desperate. Had the wounds been so bad that he had offlined? The thought made him keen in pain as his spark convulsed in grief.

After ten orns, he just couldn't take it anymore, he had to make sure. He'd leave; the decision easy enough to make now that his processor was clear. He would start looking in the base in Altihex, where the battle had taken place. He doubted his Praxian would still be there, half the mechs being transported to other cities, distributing their resources. It didn't matter, if he didn't find his mech there he'd infiltrate every Autobot base, outpost, medical facility he could find, and he _would_ find his beloved, or find proof that he had perished and continue to look for him in the Well of Allsparks.

**0000000000000000000000000**

Sentinel sat in his office thinking about the past events. Since the battle in Altihex a decaorn ago, nothing new had happened. The Decepticons seemed to have withdrawn for the moment to regroup. But what really preoccupied the Prime, was the battle itself.

There were two things that worried him: the first and most concerning, was that there had been a leak within their ranks. One they still could not identify; OPs working overtime to find the traitor. Their objective had been to blow up the base and the resources it contained. This would have proved damaging to the Autobots, Altihex being a city rich in energon. Sentinel had been planning to distribute the energon cubes to the rest of the Autobots in different cities where rations were running low.

Altihex's HQ had suffered energy loss due to an explosion near the power grid. Fortunately, it had been soon after that they discovered there was a traitor amongst them, yet the mech had managed to run off with his mission half completed before they could identify him. The explosion had left them unable to communicate with the troops fighting outside for almost a cycle. Blaster had had to act as a mediator until the backup generator booted up, but in the meantime, the one's fighting had been left blind.

It was pure desperation on their part to even allow the tactician out on the battlefield. Prowl had heatedly argued that they did not have enough data, they couldn't wait for the generator to start and Blaster could only gather confused and frightened reports from the fighting mechs. Prowl _had_ to go out to see what was happening and rely his orders if they wanted to win.

It had been his stubbornness that had saved them. But, while having managed to stop what would have been a fatal blow to their side, the cost had been big.

There had been dozens of casualties, and even more injured. Amongst them had been Prowl.

Sentinel did not understand what was wrong with his SIC. Ever since that joor, the doorwinger had been distracted, wanted to be present at every battle (even if none of the officers would allow him to go near the front lines any time soon), always taking over the monitors overlooking the battle as if searching for something. There had been doubt lacing his voice when presenting his plans. A doubt that had never been there before.

It puzzled him. Had something else aside from getting shot happened to his SIC in the small time his bodyguards had lost track of him? But Ratchet had run every test available and he was in perfect condition, no viruses or hacks had been initiated. So what had caused Prowl's sudden change in behavior?

Many had tried subtly talking to him to find out what was wrong. It seemed as if his tactician were fighting with himself most of the time. It had to stop, and Prime had been ready to intervene and demand an answer.

And suddenly, it stopped. The moment they transferred to Iacon, Prowl went back to the mech he was before, throwing himself into his work even harder than before, forgetting to refuel and recharge (bringing the wrath of Ratchet down on him), being the stern and composed mech he had been before.

While Prowl may have thought no one else was privy to his inner struggles, high command _had_ noticed, and everyone agreed: whatever he had done to come out of his distracted and troubled haze had seem to have cost him.

**0000000000000000000000**

"Phantom, any news on our leak?" Prime asked his head of OPs, a tall, slim, black mech with silver highlights.

"None, my agents have been talking to every cover agent on the field, something that could have caused them to be compromised. But there has been no information that could help us. Whoever this mech is, he has either already disappeared or he followed us to Iacon. But there is a slight possibility that he has run off to another base." His smooth voice traveled around the room. Everyone shifted, subtly and some not so subtly, looking around the meeting room, optics asking: is it you? Are you the traitor?

"Ah find it hard to believe that you would not have found 'im yet." Ironhide's rough vocals filling the sudden silence.

Phantom glared. "I do not like your implications, Ironhide. The only reason we haven't found him, is probably because he's a sleeper agent and the sleeper code has been reactivated. We can not detect a lie in someone who doesn't even know what he's done!"

At Ironhide's snort, the mech made to get up.

"Enough!" Prime yelled, stilling every movement in the room. "Ironhide, cease from implying that Phantom is involved in any way." He ordered, voice frustrated.

Prowl sighed mentally at the display. The weapons specialist's distrust of anyone in OPs and specially Phantom was renowned, his opinion of the mech showing in every meeting.

"Phantom," His voice softened as he turned to the seething mech. "I understand the situation, if the one responsible for the leak is in sleeper mode, than there is nothing we can do. Keep a closer optic on every mech on board. I want to know what everyone is doing, where they go and who the go with. If these routines are ever broken than something is going on."

The black and silver mech calmed at the show of trust the Prime had in him. With a last glare in Ironhide's direction, he gave a respectful bow of the head to his Prime before resuming his seat.

No more altercations occurred during the meeting, which continued for almost a cycle, the topic had been the same following the battle with no process having been made.

"If that is all-" Prime said after what seemed like an eternity, a clear sign that his next words would be a dismissal. Yet Red Alert made a motion to speak, earning groans from several mechs.

"Yes, Red Alert?"

The security direct fidgeted in his seat, glaring at those that had made any kind of protest.

"Sir, there has been talk between us security officers in the different cities of a possible infiltration on several bases."

"Possible?" Questioned Sentinel with a raised optic ridge.

"Yes." Red Alert shifted uncomfortably, not used to not knowing whether there was a threat or not. "Over the last decaorns, several detectors in vents, storage rooms, and even on the outside of the bases have been triggered, yet when investigated there was nothing to be found. This has happened before due to petrorats, but these reports have been accompanied by several hacks into the central terminals-"

"Has anything been taken? Weapon files, mission repots, tactical plans?" Prowl interrupted lightly from his spot next to the Prime. His tactical processor was already showing him various scenarios, most of them grim.

"No, nothing has been taken, those kind of files haven't even been looked at. There have been several files brought up though they are of the base's current stationed mechs."

The officers in the room frowned. "This mystery mech has been looking into the personal files?" Sentinel inquired, an edge in his voice.

"Yes, that is correct. This has been the only anomaly in every base so far, 'attacked'. Nothing else has been taken, no vital information, no weapons, not even traps have been laid to destroy the bases." Red Alert shifted again, his faceplates expression anger and worry. "It is most uncanny."

"What bases have reported these unusual infiltrations?"

Red Alert looked down at his datapad before answering. "The first one was in Altihex, almost two decaorn after the battle. Then came Kaon, followed by Tyger Pax, Kalis and some outposts near Polyhex."

There were curses from the gathered.

Prowl tapped his stylus on his datapad thinking. This was a worrisome occurrence, one that could not be ignored. But there was something else that bothered him. "While it is obvious that this mech is looking for someone, I am more concerned that anyone could get in undetected without leaving any trace to get into the personal files. This mech's sole purpose is finding his target, but if he had wanted to, all the bases could have been destroyed."

A grim silence overtook the room. Everyone understood that they had been extremely lucky that whoever has been infiltrating the bases was only 'looking' for someone. Prowl's words were true; had the mech desired to cause harm, thousands of lives could have been lost in mere orns.

Sentinel ran a servo over his faceplates, tired and wary. "Alright, can we assume that this mech might try to infiltrate Iacon's HQ?"

"We don't know who he is looking for, but since no one has been reported missing nor hurt in any strange way, we can only assume that he has not found who he is looking for, and he won't stop until he does." Prowl paused, thinking hard. "Yes, I think it is safe to say he will eventually try to infiltrate this base."

"Are we dealing with a Decepticon?" Ratchet asked.

"It could be a saboteur trying to find the sleeper agent to reactivate the code. After all, the mech did flea the moment he realized we were on to him." Phantom answered.

"I'd rather not jump to conclusions." Prowl interrupted. "Red, what does the data you have gathered from the other security directors conclude?"

"We don't know. His actions are so out of the norm for a Deception..." Red Alert trailed off shaking his head. "We don't know what to assume."

Sentinel sighed, leaning heavily back on his chair. A moment of silence passed, everyone's optics locked on their Prime, awaiting his orders.

Coming to a decision, Sentinel sat up straight, elbows on the table and chin on his fists. "Decepticon or not, we can not allow this infiltrator to run loose anymore. As Prowl has stated, this mech could have blown up a lot of our bases and outposts. Red Alert." The mentioned mech straightened in his seat, optics never leaving his Prime's as the powerful gaze landed on him. "I want you to contact every base that has had this 'breach' and tell them I want a full sweep of the base, leave nothing unseen. There could still be a hidden device somewhere and I will simply not risk it. Also, send word of this mystery mech to all the other bases and outposts, if we could apprehend this mech we could gain a lot of intelligence." The security officer nodded and Sentinel turned to the rest of his officers.

"I want this place locked down for the present. A full sweep of every room, vent, crack and even closets are to be made, brief the mechs stationed here, I want them all in groups of three or larger, no one is to go anywhere on their own. This mech is looking for someone and we have no idea who, if that mech is aware, and what this mech intends to do with his target. Upgrade security and run more patrols." The last was said to Prowl, who took care of the duty roster.

"Ratchet- "

"Yeah yeah I know, lock all my patient files. Oh don't worry, I see anyone so much as come near my console they'll wish they were never even a speck in their creator's processor!" The medic hissed, optics promising pain. Even Prowl felt sorry for the poor bot that tried to access those files. Ratchet was very protective of his patients, even if he denied it all the way, and wouldn't let anyone take advantage of his files to find and possibly hurt one of his charges.

Sentinel nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, that will be all, go to your stations and update your mechs. I don't want even a glitch mouse to get through without us knowing about it."

"Yes, sir."

**0000000000000000000000**

Jazz grunted as his frame contorted in weird and unnatural ways. He managed to see his silver paint-job change into a dark green, before he had to offline his optics as his insides moved this way and that before settling in their right places. As much as he loved his ability to sorcel, he hated the process with a passion.

Sorcelling hurt like the pit, or just plain made him feel sick as certain parts moved. Oh but the results were worth it; to be able to pass off as any mech he desired. He could copy a frame or create his own at will, though it took a lot of energy to do so. It had been this ability that had kept him from being detected in the bases he had infiltrated to search for his beloved.

His ability was a very rare one. So rare in fact, that it was only known to a few, mostly those who possessed it or knew someone who did. For a very small minority it was a myth, and the rest of the world had no idea of it's existence in any way.

Jazz had kept his ability a secret from everyone, including his ex-faction, and specially from bots like Shockwave. If the scientist had learned that the myth of being able to change one's appearance at will was not really a myth… oh Jazz was pretty sure he would become intimately familiar with the interior of the mech's lab.

He doubled over as his frame finished the sorcelling process. Standing up, he took a moment to study his new features, rotating his shoulder joints and doing a quick walk around the room he was in, getting accustomed to the new frame. It's height, the amount of weight he had to put on each pedde, his arm reach, etc.

A soft groan had him turning, looking as the mech who's form he had borrowed twitched, no doubt coming back online from the small zap Jazz had surprised him with. In two steps he was beside the semi-unconscious mech, kneeling next to his processor, datacable at the ready.

"Sorry mech. Need ta borrow yer identity fer a few cycles, maybe even a joor if Ah run out of luck. Primus mech Ah really hope yer shifts don't include anything boring." Jazz muttered as he quickly, yet gently, hacked into the mech's processor, downloading all the information he needed. The mech's name turned out to be Bass (how stupidly ironic), his schedule was rather tranquil ("Thank Primus!"), there weren't many access codes this mech seemed to know. He still took the duty roster entry code, and downloaded some quick memories to see who his friends were, their names and some personality matrixes so he didn't raise any suspicions.

His hope of catching a glimpse of his beloved in the green armored mech's memories died as he realized this mech was a fresh graduated academy recruit. No wonder he didn't have much clearance anywhere. Mech didn't even know anyone on base!

Of all the mechs he had to choose from. Well, at least it played in his favor. Not many mechs he had to keep an act up for.

Sighing in frustration, Jazz uploaded a simple program that would keep the mech in stasis until he deactivated it. With a lot of grunting and cursing, Jazz lifted Bass and pushed him with some difficulty into the vent he had come in through, locking the panel in it's place.

Taking a moment to calm his systems -the mech was heavy! - Jazz thought about all the things he had had to evade to get this far. Word of his presence had reached other bases, and he cursed himself for being so stupid as to let his activities be caught. In his defense, he hadn't thought the Autobots kept track of who looked into who's file and for what reasons. The Decepticons sure as pit didn't give a frag. Maybe that had been his mistake: assuming the Autobots had anything in common with the Decepticons.

Security had doubled in every base, but he had still managed to infiltrate them and choose the mech most convenient for his needs and 'borrow' his identity. Still, whoever was security director in this base was a slagging sadist! Lasers, hidden grenades, shock webs, trap doors, alarms at every corner? And he thought the Decepticons were paranoid. He hadn't been able to move further than the first layer of the base, which was probably why the room he had gotten into had belong to a simple academy recruit. But the important thing was that he had gotten in, and he'd better make his rounds quick before he had to go take over the mech's shift.

With new determination, Jazz - no, Bass- set out to find his first target: the rec. room.

**000000000000000000000**

Maybe it was because he had gotten used to simply searching a base and coming up empty handed, but by now, coming across his beloved seemed like a far away dream. And so, when he turned a corner and looked up ahead, he froze.

It took his processor a moment longer to grasp what his spark had already acknowledged: He found him! He had actually _found_ him! Jazz couldn't believe his optics. It had taken him decaorns, but there he was, walking down the same hallway he was currently standing in! His spark jumped in his chassis, dancing in joy at seeing it's other half alive and well.

And Primus what a beautiful sight, to see his Praxian dent free, no trace of energy, dirt nor injuries. He was so beautiful, so graceful, even more so than he remembered. Oh how he wished to be by his side! But he couldn't act recklessly. Taking out a small device he had made before the start of his search, he attached a small note and calmly started his walk again towards the distracted mech. And oh Primus how he wanted to take the Praxian in his arms! To claim him, here in front of every mech in the hallway, to let them know the black and white was his! But he contained himself, outwardly indifferent and calm.

A soft, intentional bump from his arm to his beloved's almost had him locking up from the thrill it sent through his frame, his spark flaring in recognition to its mate! But quickly regaining his senses, with a small sorry, he left the device securely in the mech's subspace, and kept walking as fast as he could, afraid that if he stayed any longer, if he merely _heard_ the mech's voice, it would be his undoing.

Turning into another corner, he brought up the map Bass had - thank Primus!- been given of the base and located the most secure and abandoned place on the base.

**0000000000000000000**

Prowl sighed as he read over the datapad he was holding. Things had been getting hectic lately. What with the Decepticon finally coming out of their hiding place and going on a rampage, rogues being caught everywhere, the threat of a traitor in sleeper mode in their midst, and the mystery 'ghost', who's presence had gone through four more bases in three different cities since they had first discussed him, had put a strain on his processor, specially with all the rumors going about the mech.

Some rumors said that it was a Decepticon looking for his long lost youngling, which had made some of the orphaned Autobots a bit testy and defensive when teased about it. Another rumor was that it really was a ghost that was haunting the bases and many have said to have seen the specter in their rooms, looking down at them while they recharged; some said that if you did see him, you would die in the next battle.

Frankly, such rumors were creating chaos amongst the troops and many were suddenly afraid of the 'death specter'. One good thing did come form it though: fear of Decepticons had lowered dramatically.

Still, he welcomed the extra work. If nothing else, it made the emotions from his spark lessen to the point where he could go an orn without feeling any pain or doubt about how his tactical plans could affect his other half.

So focused was he on his thoughts, that he didn't see the mech coming towards him, until he bumped into a tall dark green mech lightly. He was about to turn and apologize, but for a moment, he could have sworn that his spark had jumped at the contact. Looking back, he was startled to find himself alone in the hallway. With his processor still running over the latest rumor, he suddenly felt a tinge of fear run through his frame. Shaking his helm in frustration, he kept walking towards his quarters, reprimanding himself for such illogical and childish thoughts.

**000000000000000**

Groaning in relief as he entered his room, Prowl left his datapads on his desk and allowed himself to drop on his berth, faceplates landing on his pillow letting out a soft groan. While his work did distract him from a certain visored mech, the last decaorns had exhausted him and the tactician welcomed this rare opportunity to rest. Sentinel, threatened by Ratchet, had ordered him to take the joor off to rest and refuel properly. And for once, Prowl decided to do as he was told.

But as always, when there was no work left to be done, when his processor was allowed to wander... the poison he had thought to have cured slowly returned, flooding his spark and all he could think about, was the visored mech on the battlefield.

Prowl sighed. He had to stop this. Thinking about him was not going to make the mech magically appear. He couldn't understand why his spark refused to see logic. The mech was a Decepticon!

Before he could start numbering to himself the reasons why he should forget about the mech, a soft beep caught his attention making him sit up. He looked around the room searching for the origin of the noise.

BEEP

Startled, he jump to his feet. It had not come from his monitor, nor his inner chronometer.

BEEP

The tactician froze. It was coming from his subspace. Cautiously reaching in, not remembering having anything that caused beeping, his servo made contact with a small device, one he did not recognize.

Once retrieved, he turned it over. His processor was screaming for him to take it to Red Alert and have him test it in anyway possible, for it was _not_ his. The only way such a strange device could have made its way into his subspace, was if someone had intentionally put it there. And the reasons for such an action were not good. Yet his spark pulsed soothingly, telling him it was alright, that it was safe.

The device was small and round. There was a small screen with what appeared to be a tracker signal, but he didn't have time to ponder about the strange function, his optics locked on the small note attached to it. The words that appeared on the metallic sheet had his optics widen in shock, his doorwings and frame tensing, spark singing.

_'I'll be waiting for you, my beloved.'_

**0000000000000000**

... Review?

Yes Jazz's pain-job is silver, yes I know it's not silver in G1, and yes there is an explanation. You'll see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Poisonous Spell (3/?)

**Character(s) / Pairings(s):** JazzXProwl

**Rating:** M

**Warnings**: SLAHS! M/M! Don't like don't read!

**Disclaimer:** Do not own.

**Author's Note:**

- IT IS DONE! WOHOO! LOL too bad this many words don't count as NaNo T.T

**READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!**

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Prowl stood, still as a statue, in front of the storage doors on the lowest levels of their base; right where the tracker had led him to. The hallways were dimly lit, no bot came down to this specific storage area except to take inventory or collect the crates with the materials needed. Prowl absently made a note to bring up the lack of security during the next officer's meeting.

The datapad that had been slipped into his subspace was held tightly in his servo, arms falling limp to his sides. The message inscribed on it had left his emotions running rampant in his spark, blinding and confusing him. Already, he couldn't remember how he had gotten from his quarters to where he stood, nor did he remember just how he had managed to evade everyone in the hallways. The SIC walking seemingly aimlessly toward a secluded and rarely populated area was sure to be noticed. Primus Red Alert was going to fritz when he found out. If he hadn't already.

It didn't matter though.

Not at the moment.

He was here and there was only one thing he could do; find the mech that had left him the note.

That was it.

There was no endgame to his plan. The scenarios his battle computer presented him with were exaggerated, impossible, and those that made some logical sense were pushed aside by his spark.

There was only one way to find out what was going on, who the mech that had left him the note was, and what his intentions were; that meant going into the room.

He didn't stop to think of what would happen if this was a trap. His spark had already decided it was not, and it had a lot more influence over him than his processor.

Prowl took deep breaths to get some cool air to wash over his stressed systems. Too many emotions were tearing at him, each worse than the other. Anxiety for what awaited him on the other side. Fear, he tried really hard to believe it was fear of it being a trap, even if the idea had already been rejected by his spark. He didn't want to admit what really scared him: he feared disappointing the mech he would soon meet, he feared the disgust on his faceplates when he discovered how 'cold' and 'emotionless' Prowl was. Everyone on the base had reacted like that when they met him, and the prospect of the mech that had a grasp on his spark reacting the same way sent so much fear through his spark that his frame tensed in panic, doorwings shaking in distress. What if he wasn't what the visored mech had envisioned as his other half?

The intense emotions were overriding everything his battle computer came up with: he should report his findings, there was an intruder on the base, if this was the same mech he had met no the battlefield, he was a Decepticon! He should have alerted security the moment he had received the datapad.

All that was forgotten, his spark guiding him.

The doorwinged mech shook his head, trying to regain some semblance of control and rationality. It was illogical. He didn't understand how this mech; a mech whom he had never talked to nor even knew his name, had caused so much emotions to assault him. Onlining his optics, he sent the command for the doors to open, determined to see this through.

The hiss that echoed though the hall as they parted seemed ominous; the lights didn't work, only darkness welcoming him. It seemed fitting, he thought, slowly entering the room. Their first encounter had been in a wide, visible, and noisy terrain, their departure dramatic and grim.

Here, they'd have no distractions, no gunshots flying, no possible separation.

No excuse to run.

That thought sent a pang of hurt through his spark. Yes, although blurry, he remembered that desperate attempt where his spark had called out for it's other half, begging him to take the pain away, to hold him and comfort him. Only to see the mech turn and run, not even _once _deigning to look back.

In that moment where his spark had been in command, the action had almost sent him into stasis; he had felt _betrayed. _But once he was back to full functioning, Prowl had given it some thought and saw the logic in the mech's action; if he had stayed, he would have been killed or imprisoned and interrogated. His spark had grudgingly accepted his reasoning.

Now though, whatever started here, he was determined to see it till its conclusion; he would not let the visored mech go this time.

The doors closed leaving Prowl in utter darkness. He nervously waited until his optics adjusted to the lack of light, making out the figures inside. The room was packed with crates, the messy way they had been left in formed narrow passages that ran through the room resembling an endless maze. There were no cameras, no possible way of knowing what was going on in the room, and even if there were, the crates would be enough to hide anything that happened.

It was the perfect hiding spot for an assassin.

His spark squashed that thought as soon as it presented itself, stubborn to the end.

His first steps were slow, soundless. Prowl felt an inexplicable urge to shout 'I'm here!', and he glared down at his chest-plates right where they were hiding his spark.

The silence that reigned in the room seemed louder than any stereo blasting full volume, echoing over the large room. He dared not make any noise afraid even the tiniest sound would disrupt some sort of balance, make him vulnerable, fasten his inevitable meeting with the visored mech.

Concentrating on the task at hand, Prowl sub-spaced the datapad and took out the tracker that had been left with it. Following the small red dot that appeared on the small screen, he entered one of the passages made by the crates. He walked through the small space sideways, the tips of his doorwings almost brushing with the crates behind him. It was incredibly dark, but his fine tuned sensors, apart from his sensory panels helped him navigate as well as if there were light. Following the coordinates for a few more seconds, he stepped into a small bubble made by the crates. Four towers at least three times his height reached for the ceiling, but the space wasn't big. Granted, he could stretch his doorwings freely again, but the space could hold at least three mechs Ironhide's size side to side.

Looking down at the tracker, he frowned as he saw the dot right where he was standing. Running his sensors over the small space, he could detect nothing. Frown deepening, and growing more and more suspicious by the moment, he made to turn and head back when his doorwings picked up the slight, barely there shift in the air flow. In an instant, all his defense systems and battle computer came online full force, drowning the screaming of his spark. The tracker disappeared replaced with his acid pellet. Weapon in his servo he turned quickly to face his opponent, only for a force to ram into him, sending him backwards into the closest crate. Prowl hissed in pain as his doorwings were crushed and tried to raise his acid pellet.

His opponent was quicker though, and before he knew it his weapon was sent flying, hitting a crate with a loud clank, a frame pressed into his, pinning him between the crates and his attacker. A pede had skillfully neutralized his left pede and he could not spare his other unless he wanted to lose the little balance he had.

Prowl gasped when invisible servos were suddenly on his doorwings, magnetic waves pulsing through his throbbing sensors, gently, soothingly, almost _apologetically_. His servos latched automatically to the frame that seemed intent on merging with him, finger digging into seams.

He tensed as his neck was nuzzled, warm breath caressing the side of his face.

"Found ya." Was whispered into his audios in what seemed like a desperate and relieved sigh.

Prowl tried to push the mech off him, but only managed to make the other lean back a little, and the tactician came face to face with a red visor. A very familiar red visor.

He froze, making the other's servos stop their tender ministrations, the light from both their optics giving them enough enough light to see each other's faces. Prowl couldn't believe it. He didn't need to be able to see the mech to recognize that visor. He hadn't _wanted_ to believe this was possible, even if his spark had known from the beginning. He slowly brought up a servo to gently caress the mech's cheek, as if trying to see if he was real.

Leaning into the soft touch, Jazz brought their chassis together again, and both gasped at the sudden flare of their sparks.

At the _recognition_.

"It's you." Breathed Prowl in wonder, spark almost _purring_ in content.

"'Course it is." Jazz replied smirking.

_'Silly mech'_, thought Jazz, already fond of his mech. _'Who else would he be?'_

Before both knew what was going on, Jazz was fervently kissing Prowl, and the tactician found himself responding. Servos started roaming, touching, caressing, and pulling at the other.

Small pants, moans, and groans escaped each vocalizer as a hot spot was located and teased.

Jazz growled in the other's mouth, biting at his lower lip-plate. Prowl automatically granted him access and was greeted with a glossa determined on exploring every inch of his mouth. Moaning, the black and white brought his servos to the visored mech's sides, pulling him even closer to his frame and massaging the seams on his hips.

Parting with a low groan at the touch, Jazz latched onto Prowl's neck, sucking and biting hard, intent on marking the other as his. The winged mech moaned and threw his head back to allow more access.

Jazz started grinding his hips with the other's causing them both to moan at the friction, their desire increasing with each second that passed.

Jazz felt like he was in the Matrix. His search was finally over! Primus when he saw his mech in that hallway it had driven him crazy. He would be lying if he said he had waited patiently for the doorwinger's arrival. More than anything he wanted his mech in his arms. When he heard the doors open, he'd been filled with giddy excitement! It had briefly crossed his mind that the mech may have called security, or doubted him, but his spark had set him to rights and not another thought like that dared present itself.

Oh and when his beautiful Praxian stepped into the small space he'd made sure was suitable for them to talk, he had lost it. He wanted, no; he _needed_ to touch. His spark had screamed in outrage as a hiss of pain had left his mech's vocalizer. How could he have hurt him!

He should have been more careful! Jazz hadn't really known what he would do once they were face to face, but his spark had taken over and the next thing he noticed was the pure want and love he felt toward the other.

Prowl was aware that he should not be doing this. He had no clue who the mech ravishing him was, what his name even was! Frag it, the mech was a Decepticon! On normal occasions, Prowl would have never allowed another to touch him as this mech currently was. But by Primus it felt so good, so normal, so _right_. His spark was at ease with this new development, demanding him to let this happen, to not question it. Lost in his musings, he was startled by a small 'click' and a groan from the other mech.

Prowl froze, wings twitching. Noticing the change, Jazz stopped his ministrations and leaned back a bit, so they could both stare at each other.

Panting, Prowl met the other's visor, before his gaze turned down to see that the other mech had released his spike and now stood proudly between them. The tactician let out a small moan at the sight of the large and thick spike, his valve pulsing in want.

His more rational side came knocking at this lust filled and hazy processor. Was he really going to allow such a thing?

"Hey, " Called the other.

Slowly, Prowl looked at the visored mech, suddenly aware that his doubts and fears were quite visible on his usual blank face. A different kind of click was heard in the darkness and the tactician was surprised when the red visor retracted, crimson optics meeting his azure ones. For a moment, both mechs just stared at each other, the light from their optics enough to let them see their faces, Prowl's arms hanging limply at his sides, while Jazz was supporting himself on the Praxian with both arms on the crates.

"Hey, " He called again, well aware that he still didn't know his other half's name. "Let me claim ya." He whispered huskily. Primus he needed this mech, he needed to mark what was his now!

Prowl's processor spun at the sudden request. He took another moment to stare into those optics, seeing the longing, the want, the pure _need_ to claim him. They also let him know, that he wouldn't hurt him.

As of that moment, his spark overrode every thought from his logic center and battle computer.

"Yes." He breathed, the simple word coming straight from his core.

No more could be said as his mouth was claimed again. Servos once more free to roam everywhere.

Pinned as he was between the wall and the mech whose name he still did not know, he let go of the mouth that seemed intent on eating him and kneeled, quickly bringing his servo to stroke the base of the large spike as his mouth engulfed it.

Jazz let out a sound between a growl and a lustful moan, his crimson optics darkening even more in arousal. The sudden pleasure had him digging his claw like servos in the surface of the crate that had been supporting Prowl. He hung his head between his arms and looked down at the mech as he was sucked. A sudden thought that his Praxian had probably done this before made the crate suffer from his claws as they dug in deep into the hard metal.

Prowl managed to deep throat him and was mimicking the clenching of a valve, making the mech above him moan wantonly. Jazz started thrusting roughly into that delicious mouth, only for Prowl to bring his servos up to the slim hips to keep them from banging and crushing his head against the crate.

The visored mech groaned but kept thrusting as much as the servos would allow him. Not once did he take his optics of the beautiful doorwinger. Primus he could feel the mech's glossa circling his spike as he added pressure to it. It was the most erotic thing he had felt in a long time.

Not being able to handle the teasing, he dug his claws even deeper and brought them down with such force that sparks went flying, leaving long claw marks behind while he tried to keep in the roar that wanted to escape his vocalizer. Willing himself to push back so that his spike was free of that sinful mouth, he bent to grab the stunned doorwinger and brought him to his pedes, once more crushing him against the crate and fiercely claiming his mouth.

Surprised but quickly adapting, Prowl let the other's glossa taste himself. He yelped as a servo was suddenly on his panel, which seemed to automatically open at the other's touch.

For all the roughness Jazz had displayed, he carefully, tentatively felt his mech's valve, gently circling the rim with his fingers feeling the warm lubricants that had gathered, earning a moan from the doorwinger. Upon realizing that he had no seal though, he growled into _his_ Praxian's audio.

"Ya gonna tell meh who took yer seal so Ah can kill 'im fer touching what's mine?"

Prowl moaned at the sudden possessiveness but couldn't manage a reply as a finger penetrated his valve. He had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.

"From now on, yer mine!" The winged mech groaned as the finger thrusted in and out of his valve and automatically spread his legs farther.

The visored mech's mouth latched back onto his neck, nibbling on his neck cables. Prowl's servos gripped Jazz shoulder's, fingers digging into the seams trying to find an anchor as the pleasure took over him. He tried to keep his moans as low as possible, the thought of the sounds of their passion echoing through the room and being heard by others (no matter how low that possibility), almost seeming like a betrayal to the mech he was clinging to.

Jazz's other servo moved all over his frame, teasing and encouraging. He added a second finger and scissored carefully, not wanting to hurt his mech. Prowl moaned and rolled his hips, trying to make those fingers move faster and deeper.

The visored mech chuckled at the desperate attempts.

"Eager much?" He asked huskily, only to receive a groan as his fingers hit a particularly sensitive node.

The moaning mess he had reduced his mech to was a sight that would always be seared into his processor. The Praxian's valve felt tight, his warm lubricants coating Jazz's fingers.

Primus the sounds the Praxian made had him almost overloading! Like liquid velvet only he was privy to hear. And only _he_ would _ever_ hear such sounds from his mech!

Easing his fingers out, he drowned the displeased whine from his mech with a kiss, bringing his wet fingers up. Parting, Jazz made a show of sucking on his fingers seductively, pleased by how his mate-to-be's optics darken even more in arousal at the sight.

"So good." He moaned, spike dripping pre-cum in anticipation.

Prowl didn't respond ducking his head in embarrassment. Instead, he shyly rocked his hips against the other's, making Jazz smirk. Oh he was going to have so much fun teasing this mech in the future. He was so cute embarrassed!

Kissing his mech passionately, his servos grabbed at Prowl's thighs, quickly pulling at them as he pressed against the hot frame to keep the doorwinger pinned against the crate. Instinctively, Prowl wrapped his legs around the visored mech's hips, body completely covered by the other's frame.

Jazz mewled as the doorwinger's arms came around his neck for support, nuzzling his neck, Jazz carefully let go of one of the thighs, servo snaking between them, grasping desperately at his spike and giving it a few long strokes to relieve some of the pressure building.

Groaning, he guided it to his beloved's entrance, and in one slow and precise moment Jazz buried himself in his Praxian's wet valve. Moans left them both, Prowl's legs tightening around the mech's waist, burying his helm in Jazz's neck as pleasure assaulted him.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, panting at the sensations coursing through their frames.

"Okay?" Jazz asked, barely restrained. The velvet heat he encountered was slowly ridding him of his control. Never before had Jazz felt so much want coupled with possessiveness in his life.

Prowl took long deep breaths to calm himself. It had been so long since another had touched him like this, far too long. His mech's spike was spreading him deliciously, activating so many sensors he thought he would overload any moment.

Nodding, he found himself rocking his hips and could't help but smile at the groan he received.

Jazz could feel how tense the doorwinger was, his sensor panels twitching, and as much as he wanted to pound into his Praxian's valve, he had no desire to hurt his mech, only bring him pleasure. He started thrusting slowly, rolling his hips and wiggling them sideways to spread his mech more.

Prowl gasped as a thrust hit a sensitive nodes, back arching. Lost in a haze of bliss, he tightened his legs even more trying to bring that spike deeper, a whine escaping his vocalizer.

Smirking, Jazz upped his speed, both servos gripping Prowl's thighs tightly as he thrusted deep into his mech.

Mouths met again, glossas dancing in a fight for dominance. One of Prowl's servos ran over the sensor horns on Jazz's helm, a moan being growled into his mouth. His other servo stayed around the visored mech's neck, keeping him from falling, though he doubted he ever would, what with his mech crushing him against the crate and the fierce grip on his thighs.

"Ahh Primus!" Prowl moaned, only parting to allow his internals some time to cool.

Jazz's mouth latched back onto his Praxian's neck, sucking and biting hard with a growl.

_"Mine!"_

The space around them started heating up, the smell of their passion drifting through the small enclosure. The lubricants from Prowl's valve and pre-cum from Jazz's spike mixed together and were flushed out every time Jazz slid out allowing for the fluid to drip down to the floor, only to make seductive wet noises as he thrusted back in.

Jazz's thrusts started to grow rougher, almost frantic as he felt his charge slowly disappear. A displeased whine escaped him and suddenly Prowl was torn back to his fears.

What was wrong? What had he done wrong? Had he already disappointed his lover?

"Frag!" Jazz growled panting, stopping his movements. Prowl stayed silent and as still as possible. Was he already going to be thrown away?

"Not enough!"

Prowl's wings wilted, emotions of hurt, denial, and fear running through him unbeknownst to the visored mech.

Jazz let his helm fall with a clank on his mech's shoulder, still panting.

"Need… more. Need _ya_! Need _all_ of ya! Open yer chest-plates!" He demanded.

Prowl froze.

What?

Open his chest-plates?

Why?

Even with all the doubts running rampant in his processor, as if his body was trained to follow every command made by his lover, his chest-plates opened barring his spark to the other, the small enclosure shining with the pure light. The fragile glass that was his spark chamber shielding his spark from the outside world still closed.

Jazz moaned, looking down at his Praxian's spark. He was pleased that it seemed like no one had touched his lover there. As it should be.

"So beautiful." He murmured, opening his own chest-plates, spark chamber quickly unsealing leaving his spark exposed.

Gently he started thrusting again, eliciting a groan from Prowl, half his worries already buried under the pleasure.

"Become mine." Jazz pleaded. He would not take this mech without knowing the other wanted this as well. No matter if his spark was screaming to take him and compete their sparks.

Prowl gave a small moan, his spark answering on his behalf, his chamber's glass opening up to the other.

Jazz kissed Prowl trying to convey how thankful he was to this show of trust. Parting, he made sure to lock optics with his soon-to-be-mate, the promise of never hurting him clear.

"Mine, mine, mine, _mine_!" Jazz snarled possessively, bringing their sparks together.

Prowl couldn't hold the scream as their coronas meshed, so much bliss assaulting him.

Then, he lost all concious thought.

**000000000000000**

They both could just make out the outside world: Prowl felt the spike pounding in him, Jazz loving the feel of his mech's valve squeezing around him.

But it was still not enough, they both felt it now. Deepening their merge, their material bodies stopped existing.

They became two presences lost in a whirlwind of emotions and memories. Flashes of the other's life, his dreams and goal, fears and hurts, everything that made them who they were was presented without reservation to the other.

Here, there was no place for doubts, only trust.

Deafened by the noises and data, they felt bare and vulnerable as the storm suddenly stopped, giving way to a white sea of calmness.

In the middle, both sparks studied the other, taking everything they had learned in, going through the worst memories, their darkest times, the crimes they committed, their wrongs and defects.

Each offered their forgiveness, their understanding, their _acceptance_.

Happy memories, their joys and dreams, were easily accepted and supported. Promises of protection, fidelity, and love whispered tenderly.

Both glided toward the other, circling each other in an official greeting as mates. And for the first time, they could refer to the other by their given names.

~ Prowl ~ One called out to his mate.

~ Jazz ~ Answered the other, full of love.

As one, they let themselves merge together; the explosion of pleasure that hit them bordering on pain, had them both trying to get away yet desperately clinging to the other.

Slowly they started to blend into the other, a pressure growing, stretching, and suddenly, they felt something tear.

A moment of pain and fear as they felt something _shift_, before a wave of ecstasy took them both into darkness.

**00000000000000**

**... I feel evil, and smug about it.. *is bricked***

**I actually had thought to double the length of this by adding another part half done but I am _not_ happy with it and do not want to ruin this, which I am happy with. So.. yeah..**

**Like?**

**Oh and I really really _really_ need opinions because while I had the rest planned out I kinda.. hit a brick wall... **


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